


Hetalia x A Good Night's Sleep with Sheep?

by GoldenBallsZ



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, I don't know how many more characters will be appearing, Other, its just really counting sheep, with some weird stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 14:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14792066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenBallsZ/pseuds/GoldenBallsZ
Summary: In which Hetalia characters count sheep for you, because you are a brat who can't sleep....with some plot twists. No lemon here, get your mind out of the gutter.





	1. Germany

**Inspired by the drama cds of the voice actors counting sheep for you. They're on youtube, just search for “Good Night with (insert country here)”. Only some have been translated so I can only write those which have been translated. Credits to original subber (i think its this spaceinvaderdud.livejournal dude).**  


* * *

  
  
Welcome to the Good Night series with Hetalia characters, where you can be anything you want to be.  
  
A human, a flying yellow cat, the personification of the People's Republic of Guantanamo Bay—your imagination is your limit.  
  
Let us start.  
  
(You can even play the video in the background if you want...although there will be some differences)  


* * *

  
  
**Nation 1: GERMANY**  
  
I stared at the white ceiling, counting the spots of blemishes in the colour.   
  
“Can't sleep....” I shifted onto my side, tracing the patterns on the blanket cover.   
  
_Huh...sleep. Sleep...sleep...shleep...sheep...?_  
  
_THAT'S RIGHT!_  
  
I sat up abruptly, the moment of eureka giving me a rush of adrenaline.   
  
_Counting sheep! I need someone to count sheep for me!_  
  
“GERMANY! GERMANY! HELP!” I dragged out the 'y', screaming my lungs out.  
  
The door promptly slammed open and the buff figure of the blond man appeared in my doorway holding a whip.  
  
“WHAT?! IS THERE SOMEONE ATTACKING YOU?” His sharp eyes scanned the room for any sign of an intruder, his grip on the whip tightening.  
  
“No—”  
  
“What? Don't tell me it was another cockroach.”  
  
“No! It's just that I can't sleep. Can you count sheep for me, please?”  
  
“Sheep? You called me over to count sheep for you?”  
  
“......”  
  
“Ridiculous.”  
  
I gazed imploringly at Germany.  
  
“Fine. Then let me hear your reason as to why you can't fall asleep!”  
  
“Huh? Why would you want to know that?”  
  
Germany frowned, the whip cracking loudly as he flailed it. “Just hurry up and answer me!” I jumped at the abrupt sound, any notion of wanting to sleep driven out of my body.   
  
“This is a vital and required question! Without a clear and concise reason as to why you became in this state of unrest, you'll always resort to the inefficient solution of relying on other's help when you cannot sleep!”  
  
_Germany is...he's so scary.._.! I blinked at his militaristic tone, suddenly fearing for my life as the Nation continued staring down sternly at me, his deadly whip by his side. “I'm...I'm sorry....” I whispered timidly.  
  
As if realising his mistake, Germany's harsh features softened, and he slid a hand down his chiselled face. “Ah...don't make that face. I am not giving you this advice out of hate for your actions or yourself.”  
  
After that moment of tenderness however, he snapped back into Commando mode. “Listen. From this point on, should you fall into this same state of unrest, there is always the chance that I will not be able to help you then. No matter what happens, you must examine the situation calmly, and use your own abilities to solve it. I ask for that reason so I may awaken the potential ability within you! Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, Sir!”  
  
“Very well, you shall have an assignment on how to overcome an obstacle.” I sat up with rapt attention, listening to Germany intently.  
  
“Should you find yourself in this exact same state, you must use your own judgement to examine the situation, and create and utilize a solution! That is all!”  
  
“Yes, Sir!”  
  
Germany nodded in satisfaction. Looking at my ramrod straight position, he continued, “Hey now, what are you doing? Hurry and tuck yourself into bed.”  
  
I quickly obeyed without a word, pulling the blankets up before I paused and turned to Germany.  
  
“A-are you still going to count sheep for me?”   
  
“I'm not going to leave just yet, so don't worry. I want you to take home a solution pertaining to this subject. I do want you to learn for yourself, but I'll lend you my assistance just this once.” Germany pointed an authorative finger at the pillow, “Now, lie down and tuck yourself into bed! When you are prepared, I will begin to count sheep!”  
  
I snuggled down, peeking out from my warm covers.  
  
“Are you prepared?”  
  
I gave a small nod.  
  
“Well, then, COMMENCE OPERATION!” The whip cracked dangerously close to my bed, and my eyes almost popped out at the gush of wind created by the weapon.  
  
“ONE SHEEP! TWO SHEEP! THREE SHEEP! FOUR SHEEP!....” Germany began his drill counting, the whip cracking along to each sheep he counted.   
  
An unhealthy image of innocent fluffy white sheeps being flogged by Germany as they jumped over the fence appeared in my brain. Coupled with that counting, I felt like dropping to the floor and give him ten while at the same time beg for the poor sheeps' lives. My eyes stayed wide open in horror, staring at Germany who seemed to not have noticed my reaction.   
  
“Ten sheep!” **_CRACK!_**  
  
I managed a blink.   
  
“Hmm, you still don't look tired. What's wrong? Is there something you want to say?” Germany peered at my frozen form. “If you don't, then get comfortable and close your eyes. Well, I've only counted 10 sheep. You'll fall asleep soon enough though.”  
  
Germany raised his whip. “Are you ready? I'm going to resume.”  
  
“ELEVEN SHEEP! TWELVE SHEEP!” **_CRACK!_**  
  
_Oh my god. Someone save me please_. I wanted to interrupt Germany but he was too engrossed to notice my shaking hand emerging from under my blanket.   
  
He continued counting to 20 sheep, and I had a weird feeling that he was getting more and more excited with each flick of his wrist and each sheep he counted.  
  
“TWENTY SHEEP!”  
  
Germany looked down upon me and my totally-not-tired face, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm? You don't look exhausted at all. Are you sure you want to go to sleep?”  
  
_Of course I want to sleep, you fucking idiot! How can I sleep with that whip flailing around?!_  
  
Obviously, I didn't dare say it to the strict Nation's face in fear that he would whip me instead. I know he's a softie inside, but....how can you say it when that deleterious thing is just inches away from you?!  
  
Germany huffed impatiently at my hesitation. “As I've said before, what's wrong? If you have something to say to me, then just say it.”  
  
“Well...” I flipped off my blanket, standing up and snatching the whip away from a shocked Germany. “Get in.”  
  
“What? Get in where?”  
  
“Get in the bed of course! You doofus!”  
  
“But—I'm supposed to be counting sheep for you!” The German Nation furrowed his brows in confusion.  
  
Although I was considerably shorter than this tall hulk, I gripped a fistful of his collar, pulling him down to my height before screaming into his ear, “GET IN! NOW!”  
  
Germany gaped at me before slowly moving towards the bed.  
  
“HURRY UP! WHAT ARE YOU DAWDLING ABOUT FOR!”  
  
He slipped off his boots before putting his feet up on the bed, all the while staring bewilderedly at me; his body on autopilot, following my orders before his brain could catch up.  
  
“Wait—”  
  
“DO YOU SLEEP ON THE FUCKING BLANKET?! HUH! I DOUBT SO!”   
  
“Wha—”  
  
I flicked the whip with all my might, satisfied when the crack of the whip startled the wide-eyed Germany. Seriously though, this whip was hard to control...  
  
“KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! I DID NOT GIVE YOU ANY ORDERS TO SPEAK!” I reached over, using my brute strength to whip the blanket from under the muscle man, coolly tossing it over his body. Only Germany's blond head was visible as he opened and closed his mouth, still at a loss for words.  
  
“CLOSE YOUR EYES!”  
  
He snapped his eyelids shut.  
  
“ONE SHEEEP!” I aimed the whip as close to the bed as I dared, grinning wildly as the smack of the whip against the floor made Germany's eyes fly open again.  
  
I used my free hand to snatch my phone off the bedside table, snapping a great picture of Germany's appalled expression. Before Germany could protest, the phone was already back on the table.  
  
“TWO SHEEP!” **_CRACK!_**  
  
“THREE SHEEP!” **_CRACK!_**  
  
“FOUR SHEEP!” **_CRACK!_**  
  
I put on the best angered frown I could, spitting all over Germany's face as I yelled, “SLEEP! WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU SLEEPING! CLOSE YOUR GODDAMN EYES!”  
  
“Uh, I'm sure I wasn't as aggressive as you—”  
  
**_CRACK!_** “FIVE SHEEP!” Shouting took out a lot of my air and energy, I had to take in deep breaths to replenish my oxygen deprived lungs. My arm was burning with the effort to crack the whip with each sheep I counted.  
  
“SIX—screw it. I'm tired. Take over.” I pulled the blanket off Germany who was still trying to make sense of this particular turn of events.  
  
I raised an eyebrow at him once I was back in my cozy cave of blanket and pillows. “That was what I wanted to say.”  
  
Germany scratched at his head, looking sheepish. “So it was my counting style that was bothering you. I didn't really mean to act like I was running a drill, but my brother said the same thing too. Understood. I shall—eh?!”  
  
Soft snores filled the room.  
  
“Already asleep?!” Germany exclaimed. He gave a little sigh at my peaceful face. “Looks like you're finally feeling tired. That is good.”   
  
Germany smiled softly, tucking my arms under the blanket. “All right, mission complete...I guess? I should go now. **Gute Nacht**.”  


* * *

  
  
**That was it. My lovely cute adorable reader-tards, you can comment on which character you want next.**  
  
**I won't follow it anyways HAHAHAH**  


* * *

  
  
  
  
**-Bonus- Before all the fiasco~**  
  
“Ne, _Doitsu_ ~” Italy pinched the shirt of the hulking German sleeping beside. “GERMANY!”  
  
“H-huh? What? Wha—why are you in my bed again?!” Germany rubbed his eyes sleepily, “Go home and sleep in your own bed!”  
  
“I can't sleep...” Italy pouted. “Can you count sheep for me? Japan said that it would work.”  
  
“Count...sheep?” Germany was cranky from being woken up in the middle of the night, but if he didn't follow Italy's wishes he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep anyways. There was no telling how the man-child would pester him. “Okay. Tuck yourself in and get comfortable.”  
  
Germany climbed out the bed, grabbing the whip he (for some reason) kept in the cabinet in his bedside table.  
  
“Alright. Close your eyes.” Germany ordered, the sleepiness in his voice shifting into a commanding tone.  
  
“Ve~” Italy hadn't seen the whip yet, closing his (already closed?) eyes peacefully, waiting for Germany's baritone voice to lull him to sleep.  
  
“......”  
  
“ONE SHEEP!” Germany shouted, cracking his whip against the floor.   
  
Italy's eyes shot open at the sound of leather smacking against the tiles. “G-Germany—”   
((((；ﾟДﾟ)))))))  
  
“TWO SHEEP!” **_CRACK_**!  
  
Italy: (´；Д；`)  
  
“THREE SHEEP!” **_CRACK_**!  
  
Italy could see his life flash before his eyes. “Germany!”   
  
“Yes Italy? Why aren't you closing your eyes! Close them now!”  
  
“Ger—”  
  
“FOUR SHEEP!” **_CRACK_**!  
  
Italy: .°(ಗдಗ。)°.  
  
  
**THE END.**  
**Now go get a life.**  
**Jk. I don't have a life too.**  
  
  
  
  



	2. England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Igirisu time.

**Credits to original subber:[monobuu.livejournal.com](http://monobuu.livejournal.com) **

* * *

  
  
The last time with Germany was a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare.   
  
And so tonight, when I found myself in the “same state of unrest”, I tried my best to count the sheep by myself, but ended up thinking of cotton candy and the smell of mutton roasting over a pit of fire.  
  
Drool started to gather in my mouth as I imagined the oil dripping from the meat, creating a delicious sizzle as it hit the blazing wood.  
  
I was killing off sheeps instead of counting them.  
  
Germany had awakened my “potential ability” in slaughtering innocent animals instead...  
  
Quoting his words, “Should you find yourself in this exact same state, you must use your own judgement to examine the situation, and create and utilize a solution!”. And according to my own judgement, I am a useless piece of crap at counting sheep. Therefore, my solution to this was—  
  
To call in England to help me count sheep instead.  
  
Well, why not? I haven't seen that British guy in a while. Plus he might actually have some experience counting sheeps for his former colonies (pssst psst America and Canada)— a much better alternative than the uptight Germany.  
  
Previously, Germany was staying over my house for (insert a reason), so he was within beck and call distance. Sadly, England was in his home country now, so I'll have to phone him over.  
  
_Puru. Puru. Puru. Puru. Puru. Puru. Pu—gacha ( **A/N: One Piece reference! hohoho** )_  
  
“Ayyy~ I apologise for the sudden late night call, Queen Lizbeth! How have you been doing?”  
  
“Oh my, this is such a surprise!” Queen Elizabeth gave a small chuckle over the phone line, the sound of a television in the background. “I have been well, dearie. Just watching Emmerdale's rerun on the television. I suppose you phoned over to find Arthur?”  
  
“Is he busy right now? I mean, Brexit can be a handful...”  
  
“Oh no, no, he's free right now. Is there something you need from him?”  
  
“Please ask him to make a trip to my house, I have urgent business in which I require his assistance.”  
  
“Sure, dearie. He'll be there in a jiffy.” I could hear the smile in the Queen's voice. “You sweet little angel, you could have just called his cell phone.”  
  
“I wanted to check up on you as well...”  
  
“I know, I know...Oh! It's getting to the exciting part of the show! I'll have to concentrate now, apologies, my dear. Good night and sweet dreams.”  
  
“Same goes to you, Queen Lizbeth.”  
  
The phone line went dead and I wondered if the Queen would remember to tell England to get over here.  


* * *

  
  
_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._  
  
I glanced at the clock.   
  
1 a.m.  
  
England wasn't here yet and I have already butchered one thousand and thirty-six sheeps.  
  
_Maybe he's really busy...I could call someone else to come over instead._  
  
Just as I was scrolling through my list of contacts wondering who I should call to replace England, the man in question finally arrived.  
  
He knocked on the door—as expected of a gentleman—announcing himself and asking for permission to enter my room.   
  
“Come in.”  
  
The door swung open and he walked in, raising a caterpillar eyebrow inquiringly at me and my bed.  
  
“I thought you said you had urgent business with me? And I come here to find you lounging in your bed instead.”  
  
“Exactly, I need you to count sheep for me.”  
  
“Ah? Asking me to count sheep for you...man...why would I have to do something like that?” England grabbed a nearby chair and sat down.  
  
I gave him a look of 'Are you stupid or just really stupid?'  
  
He sighed exasperatedly, “Yes, I _**know**_ counting sheep is something you do when you can't sleep. What I meant was why do **_I_** have to count sheep for you?”   
  
Waiting for him had really worn me out—especially after all the sheeps that I have murdered, and I stifled a yawn, my eyes starting to tear up.  
  
“Wait—!” England took a look at my face, the chair crashing to the floor in his haste to rush over to my bedside. “Why are you **_crying_**? I wasn't that harsh, was I? Ah— crap, here, use my handkerchief!” He rummaged the inside pocket of his suit, all flustered over my 'tears'.  
  
I swallowed my laughter, taking the handkerchief from him and wiping my eyes with it. “I'm so hurt by your remark...”  
  
“W-What's the matter....did something happen? You can't sleep, but is it so bad that you have to cry?”   
  
The sad little face I had put on crumbled shortly after seeing England's hands flying all over the place in the attempt to find something— ** _anything_** —to cheer me up.  
  
A small snort bubbled out before I could clamp it down, and before long, I was outright roaring with laughter in England's confuddled face.  
  
It took a few moments before everything clicked into place in England's brain. “ ** _You brat_**! I should have known that you were just yawning!” He crossed his arms in a fit of anger, “Don't mess with me! I was seriously worried there...” England faltered as his tsundere side kicked in.   
  
“...I'll count, okay?!” He looked over to the side, avoiding my eyes. “It must be pretty hard to be so tired, you know, yawning like that, and not able to sleep... D-Don't get the wrong idea, though! I'm just counting because if you don't go to sleep, I can't go home. I'm not doing it for you or anything...”  
  
A knowing smile stretched across my face as I watched England's green eyes dart between the wall and I. “Mmm...sure...I'm sure you meant that.”   
  
“Stop grinning at me like that! You look like the friggin Cheshire Cat!”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Stop it!”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
England dragged the chair closer to my bedside, crossing his legs as he sat. “Okay. Are you ready? I'm going to start counting.” I closed my eyes, hugging my bolster tightly.  
  
“One sheep.”  
  
_Ahhh...Sugiyama-san's voice is really nice._ ( **A/N: Sugiyama Noriaki is England's Japanese voice actor)**  
  
“Two sheep. Three sheep. Four sheep...”  
  
_Fuck. Why the hell do I keep thinking of dead sheeps?_  
  
“Eight sheep.”  
  
I tried summoning darkness to shut out my overactive brain.   
  
“Nine sheep. Ten sheep.”  
  
Unfortunately, the image of food and dead sheeps still hasn't left my mind. I opened my eyes, staring blankly at England.  
  
He sighed. “You said you had trouble sleeping, but you're not even drowsy?”   
  
“Nah...I'm kind of drowsy.” I paused a little. “I think...” I added in a small voice.  
  
“Geez... I suppose being drowsy is better than not being able to sleep.” England mussed his hair tiredly and I felt guilty for calling him over when he was obviously overworked and exhausted as well. It was already nearing 1.30 a.m.  
  
“Uhm...do you think you can sleep now?” I nodded. Even if I couldn't sleep I would force myself to sleep. England needed his rest too.  
  
“Oh, okay. When I counted for America before, it didn't work very well, but...hmm, even if you're not a child, my counting can be pretty effective. Ah—! I was just talking to myself. Never mind that, I'll just continue counting.”  
  
“Eleven sheep. Twelve sheep. Thirteen sheep......”  
  
_Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. O' dear lord of the Universe, please come embrace me into your arms and lull me into sleep. O' Dormammu, Goddess of Libra, Yatogami, Bodhisattva Maitreya, God Hima,_ _please grant me the luxury of sleep._  
**(Dr. Strange) (Amagi Brilliant Park) (Noragami) (Nichijou)**  
  
“Nineteen sheep.”  
  
_My prayers are working....and England's gentle voice...._  
  
“Twenty sheep. Twenty—Oh! You guys!”  
  
_MEIN GOTT._ Just when I was about to fall into the clutches of the Great Beast of Slumber, England's excitement vanquished the awaiting Beast and I was wide awake once again.  
  
“You came all the way out here? Right now, I'm helping this person go to sleep. You guys know people who count sheep too, right? I guess it works pretty well.” England smiled at empty air, holding his hand out to something.  
  
Ah. Mister England's magical friends. I believe in magic, but sadly I couldn't see any of them.   
  
“Who's here?” I asked, as I pressed a finger to my forehead and imagined imaginary magic inside my veins flowing upwards—to activate my imaginary Third Eye. Of course, this was all an imaginary scene in my head and nothing actually happened.   
  
I was still looking at England coversing with air.  
  
“Hm? Oh, these guys?They're pretty cute, aren't they? They're all fairies that live with me. If I'm a little late in returning home, they'll come and get me.” England fawned over something, petting it with a finger. I noticed how he talked as if I could see them.  
  
England gave a little 'oh?' as he watched something fly(?) towards me. Was something flying towards me? I couldn't tell.  
  
“Haha, the pixie seems to have taken a liking to you. Since they came all the way over here, go ahead and pet her.”   
  
I smiled at England, excitement pounding through my heart. _Oh my god! I CAN PET A MAGICAL CREATURE! Where is she?_  
  
I patted the bedsheets on my right, the side where England was sitting, trying to find the smol pixie.  
  
“Hahaha, why are you petting the air when nothing's there? Are you half asleep? She's on your left, your left.” England pointed at a particular spot on my left and I stretched a finger out.   
  
_Poke_.  
  
I screamed. “England! Holy shit! I touched her! I touched a magical creature!”   
  
England mumbled apologies for my rude behaviour to the magical creatures surrounding him, saying something about “mundane people going all gaga over anything exotic”.   
  
“Do you not have fairies in your house?” He asked.  
  
“I might have. Maybe I just haven't found them.” I really hoped I do have fairies of my own. “Or they haven't found me. I can't see any magical creatures but I hope one day I will.”   
  
“Oh...that's...really sad.” England shot me a pitying look. “You can pet the pixie again, she really likes your reactions.”  
  
I stretched out a finger again, sweeping around the area where I last touched the pixie. “Hello, nice to meet you—OH!”  
  
“Wait—Hold on! Your fingernail caught onto her dress!” England exclaimed, half deciding whether to abandon all gentlemanly manners to climb over my bed and help me unhook the pixie.  
  
My hand was in the air and I could just imagine the little pixie struggling to get my troublesome finger off her. In pure blind panic, I reached out with my other hand to grab the pixie, which I still (unfortunately) can't see.  
  
“Don't grab her there!” England half-screamed and I let go of everything immediately. However, some shimmering gold dust flew into my eye. I blinked like a madman, forgetting all about the pixie that was still stuck on my finger, and used that finger to rub my eyes.  
  
“STOP OH MY GOD!” England yelled and I yelled together with him, realising that I almost squished the pixie against my eye.   
  
“SORRY!”   
  
And then I did the most horrible thing in my life.  
  
I jerked my hand away from my eye as I screamed my apology, and I **_saw_** the little pixie get thrown off by the sudden motion.  
  
She hit the wall with a sickening splat, iridescent liquid exploding out and trailing down to where her tiny body slid to the floor.  
  
The highest pitched shriek of horror I have ever heard in my life erupted out of England's mouth.  
  
I countered it with my own blood-curdling scream.  
  
If the situation wasn't so serious, I might have laughed at England for letting out such a girly scream.  
  
“I SAW HER ENGLAND OH MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER'S DUCK WHY CAN I SEE HER AND I KILLED HER ENGLAND! ENGLAND! I MURDERED A PIXIE!”  
  
England forgot about all the manners he had so impeccably kept to all these years, scrambling up to my bed—eyebrows and all—and almost fell off the other side of the bed while trying to reach the half-dead (or totally dead) pixie.  
  
“ARE YOU OKAY?!” England cradled the pixie in his palm, hollering at the poor pixie hysterically.  
  
“ ** _SHE'S NOT OKAY ENGLAND! THE BLOOD! FUCKING HELL! THERE'S SO MUCH BLOOD! I HAVE COMMITTED A GREAT SIN PLEASE PUNISH ME I'M SO SORRY! KILL ME TOO! I'M SORRY! AAAAARGH SO SORRY OH GOD!”_**  
  
I tripped over and tangled up myself in my blanket, flopping onto the floor headfirst like a fish when I got off my bed.   
  
I squirmed over to England's side, tears pouring out my eyes as I repeated 'I'm so sorry' over and over again like a broken record. The pixie laid still in England's palms, her legs and wings askew.   
  
The fragile pixie was killed. By me.  
  
“ENGLAND! TAKE MY LIFE! YOU CAN DO MAGIC RIGHT—USE SOMETHING WHATEVER RESUSCITATION LIFE EXCHANGING SACRIFICING SPELL!” I tore my arms out of my blanket prison, grabbing his collar (why the hell do I keep grabbing collars) and shaking him.  
  
“S-STOP IT YOU BLOODY BASTARD! SHE'S FINE!” England yelled as his head snapped back and forth.  
  
“SHE IS NOT FINE! ARE YOU BLIND ENGLAND?! HAS YOUR EYEBROWS GROWN OVER YOUR EYES?! LOOK AT HER! SHE'S NOT FINE!” I let go of England, pointing at the pixie in his palms, “LOOK AT—oh.”  
  
The pixie was alive and kicking. Or flying, to be exact.  
  
I could dimly hear twinkling, melodic cheers originating from the right side of the room but my brain was too overwhelmed by the discovery of life to properly process that.  
  
The pixie patted herself down, giving me a bright smile. She opened her tiny bud-like mouth and said something which I couldn't understand, because all I heard was the silvery sounds of a teeny tiny bell. I threw a puzzled look at England.  
  
“Do not worry, dear friend of Mr England, I am alive and well.” England translated, as the pixie twirled in the air, coming closer to boop me in the nose. “The 'blood' that you see was not of mine, but the vials of my potion.”  
  
England continued his translation. “We magical creatures do not perish that easily. I was merely momentarily stunned by your magnificent force. Thank you for your concern, friend.”  
  
“I-I'm so SORRY!” I bawled, reaching out a hand to hug the pixie. I grabbed the rebellious hand back close to my body, in fear that I would somehow crush the poor pixie again somehow. “I'm sor—FUCK! Why can I see the pixie?”   
  
“Language!”  
  
I almost got whiplash from the speed at which I turned to face the opposite side, where England was sitting before.   
  
I seized England's hand and slapped it across my face. He gave an uncharacteristic squawk of surprise. “What the bloody hell are you doing?!”  
  
“England. I'm not dreaming am I? I couldn't see your magical friends before, but I can see them now. There's...there's a flying mint green bunny...and a fairy...and—oh my fucking god I can see them.”   
  
The adorable bunny waved at me and I felt my heart explode. “They are so fucking cute.”   
  
“LANGUAGE!”  
  
I ignored England, feeling over my body. “D-Did I open a third eye somewhere? England! Do you see my third eye? Have I activated my long dormant magical powers?”  
  
A small tinkle of bells interrupted my racing thoughts and I looked towards England for translation again. He was literally my Google Translate for magical creatures.  
  
“The pixie said that she threw some pixie dust in your eyes earlier to help you see them. The vision usually lasts only for a short while, but if one can still see magical creatures after 3 hours, it means that the person has an affinity for magic and thus the effect will be permanent.” England turned to look at the clock. It was already 2 am.  
  
“What did you call me here for again?”   
  
“Uh...counting sheep.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
We sat on my bedroom floor, calming ourselves down. The magical creatures flew over, some resting on England's shoulder while others landed on my lap.  
  
“Are you angry, England?” I asked timidly. I had almost gotten his good friend hurt after all.   
  
“Well, you could say I was a little angry, but it wasn't your fault.” England ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “It's really late now, you should get back into bed.”  
  
I obediently crawled back to my king-sized bed, pulling my blanket along with me. England returned to his chair, waiting for me to settle down.  
  
“Uh...England. I don't think I can sleep tonight.”  
  
“Huh?! You call me over to count bloody sheeps for you and you tell me you can't sleep?!” England paused, then added, “After what transpired, I guess it would be hard to sleep...hm? You can cast a sleeping spell for her?”   
  
My eyes shifted over to the pixie who was shaking a miniature pouch full of pixie dust clenched in her hand. “Yeah, I would like that, Miss Pixie. Thank you very much.”  
  
_Did you just assume my gender?_  
  
I blinked at the sudden voice in my head, looking around to see who was that. My eyes narrowed suspiciously on the pixie, but she didn't show any signs of having tampered with my brain. She looked just as confused as me too. England called the pixie 'her' too, didn't he?  
  
Dismissing it as my inner consciousness speaking up for the pixie, I made a mental note to stop browsing Tumblr for the next few days. England didn't notice my actions and continued speaking.  
  
“I guess that would be for the best. And it's 'yes', not 'yeah'.” He corrected me automatically.  
  
“Hurry up, little pixie, I don't want to see this bastard's face for a second longer.”  
  
A peal of laughter spewed forth from the pixie and he/she/it showered me with golden glittering dust.   
  
The last thing I saw was England's red, blotchy face before I slipped into the blissful land of sleep.  



	3. America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its America time! Uh, it kind of deviated from counting sheep as I wrote this.

**Credits to original subber: monobuu**

* * *

I rubbed my aching foot, flopping onto the soft bed.   
  
I was in a hotel in Manhattan, New York. I had decided to take a well-deserved vacation to multiple countries, and my first stop was America.   
  
I walked and ate till my stomach was bursting and my foot was blistering, and yet there was still so much to see in this amazing city.   
  
My mischievous self had acted up once in the morning, when I went to a retro diner somewhere in a backstreet of the city to get my breakfast. Jet lag was still punishing my body and I needed some entertainment. There was a jukebox available in the diner, at a dollar for 3 songs. So I put in 7 dollars, for 21 songs.   
  
I punched in seven 'What's New Pussycats' by Tom Jones, and inserted that **_one_** 'It's not Unusual' (by Tom Jones too) before continuing punching in more 'What's New Pussycats'.   
  
Seven 'What's New Pussycats' played in succession, and I sipped my morning coffee while trying to hold my laughter in at the glorious rage-filled faces of the other customers as they listened to the song repeating over and over again.   
  
The single 'It's not Unusual' tricked everyone into thinking it was the end of the horrible repetition when it played, and I almost spilled my coffee as I shook with silent laughter at their sighs of relief.  
  
My morning officially went from horrible to great as I watched the whole diner go **_fucking insane_** when 'What's New Pussycats' started again.   
  
I had John Mulaney to thank for that.  
  
**(A/N: search for John Mulaney's “Salt and Pepper Diner” or “Undertale-Grillby's” for an animated version)**  
  
Now that it was night, the jet lag that still hadn't disappeared was still having its way on my body.  
  
I was tired, but my body wouldn't shut itself down and sleep. Scrolling through my contacts, I tapped on a number I never would have thought about calling.  
  
America's.  
  
He would be the worst possible candidate to count sheep for anyone—maybe second worst after Germany—but he would still be terrible at the job.  
  
However, beggars can't be choosers. I was dying for some sleep and America was technically the easiest to reach right now.

* * *

I was brushing my teeth when the front door banged opened.   
  
“Hey! It's you, huh? Asking me to save you...Hahaha! Even if you're inclined to worry, the Hero is already here so there's no need! Okay! Where are the bad guys? I'll exterminate them for you with a huge KA-POW!”  
  
I took my time rinsing my mouth as America posed heroically in the doorway.  
  
The elevator 'ding'-ed softly further down the hotel corridor. A few hotel guests ambled past my door, throwing amused glances at the heroic statue.  
  
“Oh, 'Merica, you're here. Close the door and have a seat.” I wiped my mouth with a towel, stepping out of the bathroom.  
  
America unfroze, throwing up his arms in protest. “Whaaaa~? Such a tasteless reaction! You should cheer when your hero arrives to save the day!” He flopped onto my bed unceremoniously.  
  
“TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES BEFORE YOU GO ONTO MY BED!”  
  
America kicked his boots off, propping an arm underneath his head. “So? Where are the evil wrongdoers?”  
  
“There's one on my bed.” I gritted my teeth and tried to drag America off unsuccessfully. “Get— ** _oof_** —out...of my bed!”  
  
Even with all my impressive strength, I only managed to move him by an inch. “Out! Now!....Before I start tickling you.”   
  
“Chill dude! I'll get off now!” America shot off my bed at light speed, making himself home on a chair that seemed too small for his tall stature.  
  
“America. Sorry for calling you here so late—”  
  
“You didn't even tell me you were visiting my house!” He hissed lightly when his elbow knocked into the arm of the chair at his overexcited wave.  
  
“Sorry 'bout that too, but can you count sheep for me?  
  
_NOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM_  
  
“Mm? I...didn't hear....you... _NOMNOM—SLLUUURRRRP_ —could...you...repeat again?”  
  
I didn't have any heart left to yell at America. Where did he even pull out those burgers and soda from? “Please count sheeps for me so I can sleep.”   
  
“Mm....You want a hamburger?” America asked, tiny crumbs spraying out of his mouth.   
  
“No thank you.” I cringed lightly at the bread crumbs landing on the carpeted floor, but decided to ignore them and climbed into bed instead. Room service would take care of it in the morning.  
  
“'Kay.” America gave a whoop when his trash returned back to their rightful place (the trashcan), then turned to me with a blinding smile and his trademark thumbs-up. “The hero accepts your mission! Man, you're just like England, suggesting such a classic go-to-sleep method, but I'm a Hero, y'know, so I'll definitely grant your request!”   
  
America opted for the foot of my bed instead of a chair, climbing on without so much as an invite from me. I wouldn't mind it if I was charged and refreshed, but I was a cranky asshole without enough sleep. However, he was nice enough to count sheep for a brat like me, so I ain't complanin'.  
  
“I'm gonna start counting!” America half sang, digging his feet underneath my blanket, seeking for some warmth. I poked his foot with mine, glaring at him as a warning to not occupy my whole foot space. He fake-pouted, whipping his foot up to my face to let me smell the glorious odour of sweating feet in a stuffy boot.  
  
“Alright! Let's...START! _**One**_ SHEEP! **_Two_** sheep, **_three_** sheep, **_four_** sheep, **_five_** sheep **_YAY_**! SIX SHEEP! Seven sheep, **_eight_** sheep! **_Nine_** sheep, TE~N...SHEEP!”  
  
“That was shittiest counting I have—uh second shittiest counting I have ever heard. But I had to say it was rather rhythmical. And a lot nicer than Germany's.”  
  
“Germany's? Psssh. Of course my counting is—wait!...(brain processing)...Eeeeeh? You don't like the way I count?” America's radiance-and-sparkles generator switched off, and he held his chin in a thoughtful manner. “England said the same thing the last time I did that, but...really, you guys!”   
  
With the radiance-and-sparkles generator back in full throttle, he pumped an energetic fist into the air and said, “I guess it can't be helped! I don't really like slow, delibrate counting, but I'll try! Where was I at again? Tenth sheep right?”  
  
America made it to fifteen sheeps before he started speeding up, and by twenty-nine sheeps, he was rapping about sheeps, burgers and ice-cream.  
  
It only took one look at my soulless eyes to know that his counting wasn't working.  
  
“It's not your fault, my brain is just being a stubborn piece of shit.” I stated dully. “I think I won't ever sleep tonight...maybe you should just go home....”  
  
I didn't even flinch when America grabbed my foot suddenly, exclaiming, “NO! I'm not going to just stop halfway through! Because I'm a Hero. I cannot ignore a person in need!”  
  
“You're right...It'll have been a waste of your time...”  
  
America grabbed my other foot and dragged me down towards him, then took hold of my shoulders, pulling my body up. His bright eyes stared into my listless ones. “Hey, let's go for a midnight snack then! Putting some food in your belly might help!”

* * *

And so here we were, me getting dragged into the pizza shop in my pajamas and hotel slippers, America greeting the owner of the shop warmly.   
  
“Two pizzas please! Add more cheese, thanks!”  
  
The huge slices of pizzas were served on paper plates to us minutes later. America guzzled down his own slice, and asked for four more helpings.   
  
The pizza was delicious, but my eyelids still had no sign of closing for a nice little nap.  
  
“Hmm. Still not working? I'm out of ideas...” America mumbled into his fifth slice of pizza.   
  
“It's late. I'll be able to sleep when the sun rises, but you must be tired too. Especially with all the preparation for Donald Trump's inauguration.” I pushed my second slice of pizza around on the paper plate with my finger. “I think we should just—”  
  
“AH! I THOUGHT OF SOMETHING!” America stood up with a bang, “WANT TO GO... ** _visit Trump with me_**?”  
  
His voice level dropped at the end of his sentence, and I thought I heard him incorrectly. “What?”  
  
“Well, technically not he himself, because they'll be sleeping and whatnot now at this time—but since you're in New York, we can go check out his office in the Trump Tower!”  
  
_Ohoho?_  
  
My interest was piqued. Or rather, it was awakened by the prospect of playing a prank on the President-Elect*, a man about to become the most powerful figure of America. I could feel my brain gearing up and my mitochondria churning out more energy.  
  
“Bro, you sure?” I raised an eyebrow. It wasn't an everyday thing to do to sneak into Trump's office. Moreover, America didn't even have a legitimate reason to bring me there.  
  
America leaned in closer, excitement practically pouring off him. “Yup. I want to give him a little **_gift_**. Might as well do it now and bring you with me for some extra fun.”  
  
My devilish grin was more than enough of an answer. “I'm in.”

* * *

12 a.m and Trump Tower was still as heavily guarded by Secret Service as ever.  
  
America was rummaging in the boot of his car, muttering to himself incessantly. I had no idea what 'gift' he wanted to gift Trump with, but I didn't reckon that it would be a sack that looked like the one Santa carries around.  
  
“What the hell do you have in there?” I asked under my breath as America threw the huge sack over his shoulder. “The guards aren't gonna let you pass if you look like some guy bringing a dead body in.”  
  
“Don't worry, I've got this. You'll see when we get to Trump's office.” He swaggered confidently over to the guards by the main entrance with me following behind, trying to look as if we've come on important business matters with that suspicious sack at the suspicious time of 12am in the morning.  
  
“Hey. America here,” He flashed some kind of identification at the guard, “I'm Mr Trump's secret Santa, and I've come to give him his present.”   
  
“ _What the fuck kind of reason is that?!_ ” I mouthed vehemently at him. “ _What kind of secret Santa gives presents in this time of the day?!”_  
  
America only grinned cheekily at me, then turned back to the guard. The guard had his eyebrows raised as he examined the identification card, his gaze shifting between the sack, America, me, and the card. He hesitated momentarily, then returned the card to America.  
  
“Mr Jones, would you kindly allow us to inspect what is contained in that...sack?” He held both hands out respectfully, and the other guard standing by the door came over to help. America obliged, handing the large sack over to both guards.  
  
“......Mr Jones.” The guard looked like he didn't know what face to make at the contents of the sack. “I presume that these—” He gestured to the open sack, “—aren't in anyway harmful to Mr Trump?”  
  
America tapped his foot impatiently. “Oh yeah. Yeah, definitely not. Brackie—I mean Mr Obama can vouch for me on that. Are you done yet? Can we enter now?”   
  
“Sorry, Mr Jones, may I know the identity of—”  
  
“Ah. Right, this person here is an assistant of mine.” America waved at me carelessly, and I gave the guard a tentative smile.  
  
The guard closed his mouth, looking over to the side where his fellow Secret Service guard was standing. His fellow friend threw him a 'I-don't-know-man' glance, which I might have misinterpreted because of their stony expressions that never seem to change.  
  
They were starting to look like Sweden with his never-changing expression.  
  
“I'll take all responsibility of whatever happens. Don't worry! You guys won't get fired!” America slung a friendly arm across the guard's shoulder, “But there won't be any responsibility to speak of anyways, since this is just a gift for my future boss.”  
  
The guards eventually let us pass, and we entered to the most lavishly decorated, blindingly golden atrium I have ever seen. Mirrors, brass, marble made up the entire interior, giving it a feel and style of someone that had too much money to spend. It was rather dark inside with only a few lights on, but even so I could tell that the atrium would be a sight to behold in full daylight.  
  
All the shops were obviously closed, and it was dead quiet except for the clicking of our shoes as we walked towards a well-hidden door in the far corner. It opened to a private elevator, which of course had guards doing their job again. One of them escorted us wordlessly up to the 26th floor, where Trump's office was located.  
  
The golden door of Trump's office closed behind us as we stepped into a different land. Gold mirrors and beige yellow wallpapers decorated his office. Wide windows spanned the entirety of the walls, presenting a panoramic view of New York City.  
  
His office was enormous. Rich people loved their spaces after all. However, all these space was taken up by something else that made me want to smash through one of those windows and jump off.   
  
Trump's face.  
  
His face was **_everywhere_**.  
  
On the walls were framed pictures of his face, the front covers of the magazines his face was on, and on the table it was stacked with magazines that again had his face on its front cover. And there were multiple copies of each magazine, as if Trump wanted guests to take a few home after their visit to his office.  
  
If I had to say, Trump's collection of his own face was ruining the superb view his windows were offering.  
  
America sighed, putting the heavy sack down and untying it. “Let's just do this quickly, I don't want to stay here any longer. His office creeps me out.”

* * *

After thousands of balloons, careful placement of airhorns, stacks of paper, 16 rolls of tape, and dangerous weapons, we finally finished 'beautifying' Donald Trump's office.   
  
At the same time, I realised why America wanted to bring me along. Because it would take him more than 4 hours to complete them all, but with me as a helper, we clocked the whole thing under 3 hours.   
  
“Oh man. We're gonna have to squeeze out of the door...” America held the last few deflated balloons, pressing up tightly against the golden door of Trump's office. I was drained of energy after this huge project of America's, and I feebly smacked a few balloons away from my face.   
  
America turned to me, “I'm opening the door. Get ready....3...2...1!”  
  
At mach speed, we shot out of the office with America blowing up, tying, and shoving the last balloons in, utilising all of his inhuman strength and speed. We sagged against the closed door, America's empty sack sliding to the floor. The guard that had accompanied us stared dubiously at the one rebellious balloon that had floated out before we forced the golden door shut.   
  
I laughed dryly and popped the balloon with the heel of my shoe, winking at the guard. America high-fived me before admonishing the guard to not let anyone else into the office before Trump comes in to work in the morning.   
  
“I-I understand, Mr Jones...” Cold sweat slid down the guard's face as America closed in with a smiley face.   
  
“Good.” America handed the guard his empty sack, “Help me throw this away, will you? Thanks in advance. And don't worry so much dude! Look at your face! You won't be losing your job, trust me.”  
  
“Y-yes, Sir!”  
  
The guard saluted us as America guided me to another elevator.  
  
“Where are we going?” I asked America, covering my mouth as a yawn overtook me.  
  
“To my apartment.”  
  
“In here?!”  
  
“Yeap.” America replied, popping the 'p'.  
  
“What about—what about my belongings...and my hotel room?”  
  
“Don't worry about it dude, I've got it **_all_** covered.”  
  
“Rich-ass mofo.” I muttered under my breath.  
  
America jerked his chin at me. “Aren't you one too?” 

* * *

Get your brain out of the gutter, readers.  
  
No. I didn't cuddle with America nor did I do the frickle-frackle-dance-with-no-clothes-on with him.  
  
We slept in separate rooms, on separate beds.  
  
And then we woke up in the morning to have breakfast together, awaiting for the opportune time to show up at Trump's office.  
  
Well, what about my jet lag? Pssh. It's non-existent now. Just like the sheeps in this story.  
  
(WHAT HAPPENED TO COUNTING SHEEPS)

* * *

 **8 a.m. Trump arrives at his office.**  
  
The first thing Trump noticed was that the guard standing by his office door seemed about to crumple under exhaustion and—nervousness?  
  
“Good morning, Sir...” The guard bowed, his eyes still firmly fixed to the floor even as he lifted his head.  
  
Trump acknowledged the guard with a small “Mm”.  
  
The guard hesitantly held onto the vertical handle of Trump's golden office door, blood draining from his already pale face.  
  
“What are you doing? Open it.” Trump ordered, his suspicion raised by the guard's abnormal behaviour.  
  
“Y-yes, Sir...” The guard tightened his grip on the handle, and pulled.  
  
Out came the most glorious tsunami of balloons, swallowing the panicking Trump and SS men. Curses were mixed in with screams from guards calling for backup, and a sudden blast of obnoxious airhorns coming from Trump's office.  
  
“WHAT IS THIS?! WHAT—WHY IS THERE BALLOONS?! WHO DID THIS?!” Trump hollered, stumbling back into the arms of a SS man, who was trying to talk into his earpiece while handling both Trump and his own gun at the same time.  
  
“SHOOT ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS ON SIGHT! I REPEAT! SHOOT ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS ON SIGHT! THE SAFETY OF THE PRESIDENT-ELECT IS OUR FIRST PRIORITY!”  
  
Balloons popped as some SS men shot them, deeming it 'suspicious' and life-threatening enough. Tiny papers burst out of their rubber cage, floating down like confetti onto the hysterical Trump. Trump gaped at the wave of balloons still pouring out of his office, his grubby fingers snatching up one of the tiny papers floating around.  
  
“Intelligence Bri—?!” Trump dropped the paper as the SS guard hustled him away from the door, away from the deadly balloons.   
  
“MR TRUMP IS SAFE! REQUESTING BACKUP ON A POSSIBLE ATTACK ON THE PRESIDENT-ELECT! PERPETRATOR MAY STILL BE ON SITE! 26TH FLOOR, AGENT 2916 REQUESTING BACKUP!”  
  
The elevator 'ding'-ed and SS men charged out, guns at the ready. Seconds later the door to the stairwell banged open with men in suits racing in, popping and shooting at balloons.   
  
“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” A commanding voice stopped everyone in their tracks, and the guards froze. Trump was sandwiched between two guards whom were half dragging him to the elevator in the the attempt to get him to a safer location.  
  
The voice belonged to Agent 17, or, as some of you might know—Soft Ol' Man (Tough Man)**.  
  
Agent 17 picked up a tiny paper on the floor, squinting at the printed words. “This fiasco is merely a prank by Mr Alfred F. Jones. The President-Elect is not in danger.”  
  
The SS men tried muffling their own curses as they recognized the infamous name of the troublemaker they all knew too well.   
  
“Should have fucking known....” Soft Ol' Man grumbled softly, crushing the small paper between his fingers. He skillfully slotted his gun back into its holster. “The President-Elect is not in any immediate danger. Men, keep the situation—”  
  
“Jones? America? **_That_** America?!” Trump removed his arms from the vice-like grips of the guards, anger blotching his orange face with a nice shade of murderous red. “He did this to my office?!”  
  
“Yes, Sir. We are very sorry for—”  
  
“Where is he?! Call him! Get Jones here! **_Now_**!” Trump waded through the sea of balloons, finally entering his office with some difficulty.  
  
“Didn't you hear me?! I—WHAT! WHAT IS THIS?!” Trump paused midway to his office chair, his jaw dropping at the interior of his office. Papers with the words ' _Daily Intelligence Briefing starting at 12p.m. Please do not be late. Yours Faithfully, Alfred F. Jones.'_ were taped all over every inch of his wall, his windows, and even his table and magazines were not spared from it.   
  
Agent 17 and a few other SS men rushed in at Trump's exclamation, guns dropping down back to their side as they took in the state of Trump's office. Agent 17 sighed heavily, resisting the urge to point the barrel of the gun at his own head and pull the trigger.   
  
Trump stumbled into his office chair in shock, jumping up and letting out a scream when airhorns blasted out of nowhere. He couldn't even rest his poor legs now without eliciting an annoying blast from airhorns taped under his chair.  
  
“T-THIS—WHAT—JONES?!”   
  
Two self-assembled robots with America's face pasted on it climbed out from under Trump's large desk, playing a recorded message by America in a loop while aiming Glock 27s** in Trump's face.  
  
“America here! Hey, what's up Mr Trump! Just **reminding** you, the daily intelligence briefing starts at 12 today! Be sure to attend the briefing!” America's chipper tone blasted through the speakers installed on the two robots. “America here! Hey, what's up Mr Trump! Just......”  
  
Trump's knees turned to jelly when he noticed the four Glock 27s pointed at him. Oh, he would recognise those guns anywhere ever since that surprise gift** of America's (mentally) scarred him horribly.   
  
“AGENTS!” Agent 17 yelled, whipping out his gun and firing at the two robots in reflex. The bullets ricocheted off the robot's bulletproof plating and Agent 17 had to call his men to cease fire at once in case one of the random bullets penetrated Trump's skull.  
  
The unaffected robots were still aiming at Trump. “America here! Hey, what's up Mr Trump! Just **_reminding_** you, I have another surprise gift here! If your knees feel weak, try to hold on to something!”  
  
“Wait—what?!” Trump seemed to realise that the voice recording had switched to another one, and scrambled back in fear, the back of his jelly knees knocking into his office chair.  
  
A loud airhorn blasted once again when Trump fell into his seat. Simultaneously, the robots fired.  
  
Agent 17 had ordered the agents to take down the robots the second they heard the voice recording, but they were too late.   
  
In seemingly slow motion, Trump experienced deja-vu as he watched the guards pounce for the America-bots, and the bullets spinning towards his certain death. He saw the bullets hurtling closer towards his brain, and felt one make contact with his forehead, sinking into his flesh—  
  
Trump felt his rump make contact with the carpeted floor, pain shooting up his spine.  
  
“AAAAAAAAA—! I-I'm alive! The bullets!” Trump shrieked, his hand finding its way to his uninjured forehead where he thought he was shot.  
  
The guards were hollering at everyone and everywhere, as more SS men poured into the office at the racket they were making, disarming and kicking the America-bots. “MR TRUMP! MR TRUMP ARE YOU OKAY?!”  
  
America's voice recording finally crackled out as the robots were bashed in by the frantic guards, and the office was in chaos. “MR TRUMP!”  
  
Donald Trump stared at the blunt darts on the floor which had bounced off his forehead harmlessly, trying to form a coherent sentence. “T-This...the bullets...darts...I'm alive...”  
  
“I loaded the guns with darts! Of course you are alive, Mr Trump!” America strode into the office confidently, appraising his work of art. He groaned at the sight of his precious America-bots, dented and mutilated by the guards. “Aw, man! Those were expensive! And it took me weeks to make them!”  
  
I stood behind America, nodding in approval at the total disarray of Trump's office. I picked up the fake Glock 27 by my feet, shooting an experimental dart near Trump.   
  
The SS raised their guns towards me.  
  
“Ah! Stop! Stop! I'm sorry!” I threw the fake gun away, raising my hands up in the universal sign of 'I surrender'.  
  
Agent 17 rushed furiously towards America, grabbing a fistful of his jacket. “MR JONES! I AM THROUGHLY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU!”  
  
“Hey, hey calm down, dude—” America began, but was interrupted by Trump's wrathful scream.  
  
“ ** _AMERICA_**! YOU! YOU AND YOUR SURPRISE GIFTS!” Trump snatched up whatever he could get his hands on, hurtling them at America.  
  
“Oops!” America dodged a flying file, which hit me square in the face.   
  
“ ** _YOU ARE FIRED, AMERICA! NEVER APPEAR IN MY SIGHT EVER AGAIN!_** ”   
  
“Oh shiiiit...I think I might have gone too far...help me! Huh where is—ow! Jesus christ!” America clutched at his eye when a pen struck him in the face.

* * *

America was, of course, looking for me—his accomplice in this whole stunt.  
  
But of course, I wasn't about to get dragged into deep shit together with him, so I skedaddled out of there as soon as the opportunity presented itself.  
  
A day later, the media exploded with news of Donald Trump and a prank played by his own employee, a 20 year old man (name not released), with the articles quoting “gunshots were heard but officials are denying it, saying that it was just a recording that was played by the perpetrator in order to scare Donald Trump”.   
  
Not one article mentioned me.  
  
I spent the rest of the day laughing at the comments left on social media.

* * *

*** I just joined ao3 so actually i wrote these quite a few years back**

****These are references to the other short story I wrote, The 5 Stages of Grief, in which Agent 17 (Tough Man/ Soft Ol' Man) appeared briefly. The surprise gift is......you'll find out when you read it. Check it out on my profile.**  
  
**Sorry for the late posting, having really bad writer's block lately.**  
  
  



	4. Canada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its canada time!

**Reference from Youtube video : (ENG SUB) Good Night with Canada (HD)**

* * *

After all the shit I had done with America, my mischievous desire had been thoroughly sated and the good mood cured me of my insomnia for a wonderful month.  
  
Of course, everything comes back in a cycle, and my insomnia hit me full-force in the face after the blissful month, leaving me with the incessant ticking of the clock as the hour hand crawled towards 1a.m.  
  
Dark circles larger than a panda's, I reached across to grab my phone on the bedside table.   
  
I needed some peace and quiet.  
  
“Canada.” It had only taken me a split second to associate those two words with him.  
  
Scrolling down to my contact, I clicked Canada's contact, hoping desperately that he would pick up at this absurd time in the night.  
  
The phone rang as I toyed with a loose string on my blanket.  
  
The line clicked into connection, and hope coursed through me.  
  
“Hello?” A familiar voice travelled through my phone. A sticky smearing sound followed next and I cringed a little.  
  
“Who are you?” The voice continued.  
  
I faceplanted into my bed.  
  
“Oh, uh, Kumajiro, could you call Canada over?”  
  
“Who is that?” I could hear Kumajiro's claws clicking as the polar bear tried his best to hold the phone close to his furry ear with clumsy paws.  
  
“The one who always hugs—” The phone on the other end clattered to the floor with a 'plop', “—you...” I trailed off.  
  
It took me a while to register that the sound of a phone hitting the floor was definitely not a soft 'plop'.  
  
Soon after, Canada's soothing voice (mixed with a little sleepiness in) crackled through the speaker of my own phone.  
  
“Kumamono-san! Why are you eating maple syrup again! I told you not to eat so much! It's unhealthy for you!” A smile cracked open on my sleep-deprived face as I listened to Canada 'scold' Kumajiro. He was trying his best to sound fierce and intimidating, but his soft voice was not helping much. He reminded me of a mother trying to patiently teach her own child instead.  
  
“Its KU. MA. JI. RO. Canada! KUMAJIRO! Get your own pet's name right!” I shouted into the phone, startling Canada on the other end.  
  
“Wha—Kumaniro-san! My phone! Its covered in maple syrup! And—oh my, when have you learnt to call with a smartphone?”  
  
I punched my pillow as Canada pronounced Kumajiro's name wrongly again.  
  
“Oh god, hello? Hello? I'm so sorry for Kumakata-san's mistake, I didn't know he would disturb you at this time, I'm so terribly sorry—”  
  
“Ku. Ma. Ji. Ro.” I interjected, enunciating each syllable carefully. “Oh, and it wasn't his fault, I was the one who called you.”  
  
I could hear the confusion in Canada's voice as he spoke, “It was you? Oh, and here I thought—wait—Kunojiro-san! When did you learn how to pick up a phone call?”  
  
I strained my ears to only hear a muffled thud on the other line, and Canada calling out the wrong name once again. “...no! I'm going to lock all the syrup away tomorrow!....Kuma....get down from the counter!....”  
  
Canada turned his attention exasperatedly to me, his voice holding that tiny bit of annoyance that you wouldn't ever hear if you didn't listen closely enough. “Sorry, Kumajiro-san is being a nuisance with his addiction to maple syrup. What did you call me for? Is there an emergency?”  
  
“Oh...uh...” I paused, wondering whether I should request for his assistance in counting sheep when I had obviously disrupted his own sleep (and unintentionally helped save Kumajiro from dying of excessive consumption of syrup).   
  
“Its fine, just tell me. Is there something troubling you?” The tiny note of annoyance melted back into soft concern, and my heart melted along with it.  
  
“Yeah. Could you count sheep for me?”

* * *

Canada was such a cinnamon roll.   
  
He was the ultimate roll filled with saccharine goodness and sugar-coated with love, hopes and dreams.  
  
Responding to a friend in need, he threw down everything he had on hand, washed Kumajiro and himself rid of maple syrup, and rushed to my doorstep at two a.m in the morning to help me count sheep.  
  
Canada settled into the chair (which England once sat in) by my bed, Kumajiro safely tucked between his arms.  
  
“Count sheep...” Canada breathed, a small frown forming on his forehead, “But if I count sheep, you probably wouldn't hear me very well, will you?”  
  
I blinked at Canada cluelessly. I saw his mouth move, but I heard nothing. I leaned in closer, “Sorry, what? I couldn't hear you very well.”  
  
Canada sighed deeply. “There's the problem.”  
  
I leaned in closer, cupping my hand to my ear. “SORRY, WHAT WERE YOU SAYING AGAIN?”  
  
Canada opened his mouth to repeat, until he saw my face turning red from all the pent-up laughter. He sighed deeply as snorts of laughter exploded from me.   
  
“Don't worry, I can hear you very well _**(sometimes)**_. “ I muttered the last part to myself, sending a comforting smile to Canada.  
  
“But I-I'm not very good at counting sheep...if I try and count too loudly, I'm just going to keep you up...” He trailed off, fidgeting with Kumajiro's squishy paws.  
  
“The only time you're loud is when you're making America cry.”   
  
Canada reddened, looking sheepishly at the floor. I smacked him lightly on the arm, breaking the awkward pause. “C'mon Canada, there is a reason I called you and not the others here.” I proceeded to wink at him.  
  
“Well...if you put it that way...I'll try my best then...”  
  
I grinned in anticipation, flopping back onto my bed.  
  
“Alright, I'm going to count now, so please close your eyes, relax, and listen.” Canada's warm voice calmed me, my eyes drifting shut on its own accord.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
I replied with a nod.   
  
“Alright, I'm going to start counting, okay?” Canada quietly dragged his chair closer to my bed.  
  
“One sheep...two sheep...three sheep...” His voice washed over me, and the Goddess of Sleep finally arrived, my body ready for a long awaited rest.  
  
“...Seventeen sheep....eighteen sheep...nineteen sheep...”  
  
Halfway to dreamland, I waited for the twentieth sheep to jump over the fence.   
  
“......”  
  
Silence greeted my ears.  
  
“....Hm?” I opened one eye to find Canada's mouth still moving. He was still counting, yet I couldn't hear anything.  
  
I watched as he mouthed “twenty-four sheep”.  
  
Canada stopped immediately when he caught my one sneaky eye staring at him. “Yes...?” He mouthed.  
  
“No...no, nothing, it's fine. Continue.” I couldn't bear to tell him to raise his voice out of his comfort zone when he had already made so much effort to make the trip to my house. I closed my eyes and snuggled further into my cocoon of blankets, already sufficiently comforted by Canada's presence.   
  
The clock ticked by, the hour hand crawling towards 3 a.m.  
  
“...one-hundred sheep...” Canada's voice faded back in, but I was already gallivanting away with the sleep angels in my dream.  
  
“Ah! I had already got to a hundred? Even though I counted that much, I'm pretty sure you're not even sleepy...oh.” Canada glanced at my drooling mess of a face and chuckled. “Looks like you're out cold, huh? I wonder if you heard my counting properly...”  
  
Canada chuckled again, pulling the polar bear who had fallen asleep to his counting closer to his chest. “I'm glad. Alright, we should start heading home now, Kumajiro-san.”  
  
I shot up with a scream.  
  
Canada stumbled back into the chair in fright, Kumajiro stirred awake by all the ruckus.  
  
“YOU GOT HIS NAME RIGHT! YOU GOT HIS NAME RIGHT FOR ONCE!” I pointed agitatedly at Kumajiro and Canada. “SAY IT AGAIN, CANADA, SAY IT!”  
  
“W-what? K-Kumadoro-san?” Canada looked down on the white polar bear, confused.  
  
“Who are you?” The disoriented bear asked.  
  
Canada's eyes glowed an unearthly violet-blue for a split second. “I'M CANADA!” He shouted (or rather, whisper-shouted). Canada caught himself, realising he had acted out of character. “Oh! Oh no, I'm so sorry—”  
  
“THAT'S IT!” I rolled out of bed, interrupting his apology. “I'M DONE! CANADA. KUMAJIRO. I'M GOING TO TEACH YOU BOTH HOW TO REMEMBER EACH OTHER'S FUCKING NAME!”

* * *

“Step 1, you must make an impression with Kumajiro. A very, very deep impression.” I crossed my arms, stopping in front of Canada and Kumajiro who were now sitting nicely back down on the chair.  
  
Canada and Kumajiro locked eyes.  
  
“Who are you?” Kumajiro spit out without hesitation.  
  
“NO, NO, NO, NEIN! NEIN YOU BASTARD!” I hollered, slamming both hands against the wall. “NEIN!”  
  
“Why are you speaking German—”  
  
“Canada! You! Stand up.” I circled the Nation, appraising his outfit as he stood up, towering over me.  
  
“Did you come out of Fairyland?! What is this terribly attractive hoodie?! Get rid of it!” I waved an upset hand at his fashion. I turned to my walk-in closet, digging out a black leather jacket. “Here, put this over!”  
  
“But you just said my hoodie was attr—”  
  
“Shhhhh.....shhhhhh my child...” I pressed in closer, moving a finger to his lips. “You need a deeper impression.”  
  
Canada, utterly confused but still a cinnamon roll, followed my instructions. Kumajiro sat on the floor watching his owner transform.  
  
Canada looked like he belonged in the front cover of a fashion magazine with just a simple leather jacket. He awkwardly adjusted the jacket when he caught his own reflection in the mirror hanging behind me.  
  
I snapped my fingers in approval as I looked him up and down. “Good. You look hella sexy. Now tell Kumajiro your name.”  
  
“Uh..urm..I'm Canada..?” The Nation shifted slightly to face his polar bear, bewildered by my unexpected compliment and mildy uncomfortable in a leather jacket that he knew ( ** _thought_** ) it didn't suit him.  
  
Kumajiro nodded slightly, as if seeing his owner first time in a new light. “Canada,” he echoed.  
  
Canada turned to me with wide eyes. “Ku—Kumarero-san remembered my name!”  
  
I sent him a grin. “Kumajiro, here, try and roar as loud as you can.” I curled my hands into claws, “Try to be as scary as possible.”  
  
Kumajiro took a few seconds to prepare, and gave it his all.  
  
“Rawr!” The polar bear opened his cute maw.   
  
I gripped my heart, reeling into the closet doors as the adorableness hit me in all its full glory. Gasping loudly, I managed to string a whole sentence together. “O-Okay...now...tell Canada your name...”  
  
“I'm Kuma—Kumajiro...?” The bear cocked his head, “Kumamon?” Kumajiro had been spending too much time with an owner who couldn't remember his name, till he had forgotten his own name too.  
  
I sucked in a horrified breath. “Non, non! It's Kumajiro, repeat after me! Kumajiro! The other name is copyrighted!”   
  
“Why is it French now—”  
  
“My name is Kumajiro.” The polar bear looked determinedly at his owner.  
  
“Kumajiro.” Canada waved excitedly at himself, “What about my name, can you still remember it?”  
  
The bear paused.   
  
I gulped.  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“.......”  
  
I opened my window, the cold night air rushing through, filling the room—  
  
and I jumped.

* * *

I could hear Canada's voice (finally reaching average levels of loudness) screaming my name as I rushed towards the ground.   
  
Executing a perfect foward roll, I came to a stop with one knee and a hand on the grassy ground to steady myself.  
  
The front door to my house burst open moments later, and Canada with Kumajiro dashed out, vaulting over the low picket fence bordering my backyard.  
  
“You gave me such a fright! You bâtard!” Canada swore in French, checking me over worriedly to see if I had sustained any wounds.   
  
I brushed blades of grass from my stained pajamas coolly, then patted the spooked Kumajiro on the head. “This is what I call making a deep impression.”   
  
“Its not healthy to give everyone heart attacks whenever you do it!” Canada reprimanded me, “I'm sure there are other ways like—like...America!”   
  
“America? Pssh. Being loud and annoying is even more worse than giving everyone heart attacks.” I flipped a nonchalant hand. “And it wouldn't suit you at all—being loud and in-your-face like America I mean. You'll only get mistaken more for America if you tried that. Kumajiro would remember you as Hamburger boy—it wouldn't be **_you.”_**  
  
Canada's mauve eyes flashed with a emotion that I couldn't read in the split second it appeared. “Well, then other than these kinds of suicidal jumps, do you have any more ideas?”   
  
A childish grin split my face open. “I think...I might have some idea of what to do.”  
  
Canada sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Oh god. No.”

* * *

We returned to my room, and I changed into another clean pair of pajamas.   
  
I glanced at the large clock face. _Three_ _twenty-five._ Why is it that everytime I invite someone over it always ends up with me sleeping later than usual?  
  
I shook my head, focusing on Canada who was feeding the hungry Kumajiro some pocket snacks he had in his hoodie.  
  
“I've always wondered that if the scenes in the animes I watched would work in real life.” I started, unable to keep the grin off my face.  
  
Canada groaned. “Now what anime is it?”  
  
“Hm. There are too many to name, but do you know those bespectacled characters? They always change personalities whenever someone takes their glasses off.” My fingers twiddled conspiratorially.  
  
Canada almost looked offended. “What? No! I don't change personalities! I'm definitely not an anime character!”  
  
“You never know until you try!” I pounced in the middle of my sentence, catching the Canadian off guard as I grabbed onto his glasses, careful not to crush them under my enthusiastic grip. Kumajiro watched with amusement from his nest of pillows on my bed (when the heck did he get there?).  
  
“Ah—” Canada flailed, trying to adjust to the sudden blurriness in his vision.   
  
I threw my glasses towards the smart Kumajiro, who caught it flawlessly with his mouth and placed it gently down next to him.  
  
“So?” I stood expectantly with my hands behind my back, head tilted upwards to the tall Nation.   
  
Canada froze suddenly. He turned his face down towards the floor, his slightly long and curly hair covering his features. A dark shadow enveloped his face and my heart skipped a beat.   
  
No. Not in attraction, but in fear that I might have actually gone too far.  
  
I gulped. _Shit_. Did I make Canada angry? I acted like a brat, for sure, but I didn't mean to make him angry. “C-Canada? Urm...I'm sorry. A-are you angry?” I leaned in closer, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.  
  
The moment my eyes met with Canada's violet orbs, I felt the air being knocked out of me as my back slammed into the wall by an unknown force.  
  
I gathered my breath and opened my eyes, ignoring the dull ache in my lower back from the hard contact with the wall. “C-Canada!”   
  
Canada had his both hands against the wall, trapping me in between. He was breathing heavily, his violet eyes boring into me. I noticed that he eerily looked like America, almost a second copy except for his oddly coloured eyes and a face that was more heart-shaped than America's sharp oval. My heart sped up at this turn of events, mouth dry and at a lost for words.  
  
_Is this the famous kabedon I've been seeing in those animes?! What?! Why is Canada doing this?! Did—did he really have a personality change?!_  
  
My mind raced as beads of cold sweat slid down my forehead. “Uh....uh Canada, I know I swing both ways...but uh...don't you think its too... ** _fast_**?” I tried holding my hands up in front of me like a shield, but all I touched was Canada's firm, muscled chest. I coughed awkwardly and put my hands down again, accidentally dragging them sensually down his torso due to the small constraint of space. “Canada? Y-you're still Canada right...? D-did your personality change or something?”   
  
My fingers tingled as Canada continued to stare at me intensely. My eyes flitted left and right as I tried to avoid his gaze. My mind was in a jumble, calculating how to escape from a Nation that possessed inhuman strength and speed.   
  
_SAVE ME! SOMEONE SAVE ME FROM THIS AWKWARD SITUATION! PLEASE! OH MY GOD PLEASE!_  
  
Canada moved an inch closer. His straight nose was a milimetre away from mine, those damned eyes still focused on mine.  
  
I dropped my eyes, focusing on Canada's chin. “C-Canada?” I whispered, afraid to move. His maple-syruped breath fanned across my face and I blinked nervously.  
  
_I DIDN'T PLAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN! No! Please don't let anything happen!_  
  
After a few more seconds of insufferable silence, punctuated by Canada's and my heavy breathing, the cinnamon roll I had come to know suddenly sandwiched my face in between his large hands—and squeezed.  
  
“Mmmf! Mandaga...slop!” _Canada, stop!_ My hand punched into Canada's abdomen, but he still stayed rooted to the ground.  
  
Canada's serious expression broke into the familiar smile I knew, chuckling at my fish-face as he squeezed harder.  
  
I relaxed, all tension leaving my muscles. So Canada was still Canada.  
  
“Let merf go!” I protested, glaring at the laughing Nation.   
  
Canada only released me when he was unable to hold on from laughing too hard. He doubled over, wiping the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. “Was...was I impressionable?” Canada wheezed, “Did I scare you? Was my acting realistic? How was it? Tell me!”  
  
Canada's bright eyes glinted with amusement as I nodded. “Y-yeah. Very. Very impressionable indeed. You almost gave me a heart attack.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead and sighed. “I was thinking that the glasses personality changing thing really worked.”  
  
“But—” I continued, rage surging through me, “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE AN IMPRESSION ON KUMAJIRO, NOT ME, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” I pulled my fist back and punched Canada again. Hard. “Invasion of private space! INVASION! IT'S RUDE, CANADA!”   
  
Rude and Canada really didn't fit together in the same sentence. It felt weird to say that to one of the nicest country I knew.  
  
Canada easily caught my fist, a happy grin stuck on his face. I narrowed my eyes. He apologised, “Sorry, but at least now I know I can still do it. Be impressionable, I mean.”  
  
I fell silent and Canada's smile faltered a little.   
  
We both knew that his greatest fear was being forgotten.  
  
“Well...yeah...great job, Canada!” I perked up, slapping him on the arm encouragingly. “Back to what we were doing, do you still remember that cute little runt's name?”  
  
Canada picked his glasses up from the bed, and said, “Kumawari, right?”  
  
Kumajirou looked up at the same time and said, “Who are you?”  
  
I gave a scream of frustration as both pet and owner looked at each other and laughed. Kumajirou's laughter was just short bursts of high-pitched growls, which was weird to say in the least. It was the first time in my life I ever saw a polar bear laugh.  
  
“You know what? Let's stop this, you two are cursed to forget each other's name forever.” I rubbed my temple. Canada and Kumajirou was still in fits of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughing, I'm going to sleep now. Scoot over, Kumajirou.”  
  
The white bear obliged and I slipped into my soft covers. “You can keep the leather jacket if you want, Canada.”   
  
“Mm? No, no, its fine, I don't want it.” Canada scratched the back of his neck, a light smile gracing his features. “I don't think I need it. I like my hoodies better.”   
  
“I knew you would say that—” My trusty phone snapped a photo of Canada in leather, “—and so I need this picture for commemoration.”   
  
Horror mixed with embarrassment manifested itself in a red blush on Canada's cheeks. “Oh no! Please don't post it on there! Delete it!” His voice rose to normal levels of volume.  
  
I feigned innocence, my fingers making quick work as I grinned at him. “Post on where?”   
  
“That—that Instagram account! The one with all the photos! I saw Germany's in there!” Flustered Canada threw off the leather jacket, picking up his hoodie and Kumajirou.   
  
“Oh, you mean this one?” I held up the phone, where the Instagram page showed the uploaded photo of Canada in my leather jacket.   
  
He turned a fiery red when he read the caption under the picture. “Wh—I-I'm not a sexy beast! Delete it!” Canada made to grab my phone, cursing all the way in a mix of French and English when I pressed the power button, and the screen darkened.  
  
“ _Oh mon Dieu! Merde! (Shit!)_ What's your password—please tell me!” Canada inserted random numbers, trying to unlock my phone.  
  
“My password is 23 characters long.”   
  
“For fuck's sake—”   
  
Canada continued spewing colourful choices of words while I settled back into my warm blankets. It was rare to hear him curse in this amount. “Have fun figuring it out! _Bonne nuit_!” I gave Canada a little wave.  
  
The noises faded as I slipped into a deep sleep, a small mischievous smile still lingering on my lips.  
  
“SHIT! Oh my god, America will tease me so much for this!” Canada almost had a mental breakdown as the phone buzzed at the sixth wrong password, locking down into a timer of one hour.  
  
“No!” Canada furiously tapped at the screen of my phone, but the phone just responded with more vibrations. “ _Non_!   
  
Kumajirou watched quietly from the floor. He tapped a paw on Canada's foot, calling for his owner's attention. Canada looked down to his best friend in defeat, the phone dangling in his hand.  
  
“Hungry.”   
  
Canada sighed.   
  
“Go home!” Kumajiro whined, moving to sit directly on Canada's foot.   
  
“Okay...we'll go home now.” Canada picked the bear up, and fought the urge to throw my phone into the toilet. The cinnamon roll placed it back (not so gently) onto the bedside table. “I'm going to get hounded by America...argh.”  
  
Canada sighed again, muting his own phone in anticipation of America's calls and messages.  
  
I continued sleeping on well as the door clicked close behind Canada and Kumajirou.

* * *


	5. Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's rossiya time!

The pills for treating my insomnia wasn't doing its job.  
  
_Tick. Tick. Tick._  
  
My traitorous clock was still happily ticking away when its master was suffering so horribly.  
  
A ghost's hand suddenly phased through the wall, greeting me a small wave. I waved a hand back until the translucent hand retreated. Apparently I do have some affinity for magic, because the effect was permanent after the whole fairy glitter thing with England. The drawback of this effect was that it included not only magical creatures, but anything that was deemed 'unnatural' as well.   
  
Of course, I've been meeting friendly ghosts just like the one who waved 'Hi', and a fair share of angels and demons.   
  
I usually drag out all my acting skills and thoroughly ignore the (sexy as fuck, I might add) demons which I happen to see. I don't want to get dragged to the depths of Hell yet when One Piece hasn't finished. Angels, however, were such cinnamon rolls, which I was lucky enough to have some of them over for tea.   
  
But the moment when an angel and a demon meets—I couldn't tell the difference between who was the real demon and who was the angel. Their fight was enough to bring down my whole house, but, since they are of another world, their “bing bing bong bong”s don't hold any true effect in this world.   
  
That's another story for another time.  
  
I picked up my trusty phone, cringing at the bright light assaulting my eyes as I scrolled through my contacts.   
  
Canada again maybe? I forgot to tell him the last time he was here to stop hunching his back in shyness—that's why everyone thinks he's shorter than Hamburger Boy.   
  
Meh. I could just text him.   
  
Romano? Maybe I should call him and ask how him and Spain are getting along.  
  
Maybe even tease Romano and snap a photo of him in my newly bought tomato dress.   
  
_Perfecto._   
  
My coordinating functions failed me as I tapped on Russia's name accidentally instead of Romano's. (In my defense, it was saved right under Romano's. )  
  
The phone started to call Russia.  
  
My face drained of all colour as my finger dived for the red hang up button. _COME ON! FASTER YOU GODDAMN FINGER! I'M GOING TO BE FUCKING DEAD—_  
  
“Hello! It's so rare for someone to call me!” Russia's deep, cheerful voice crashed upon me with the weight of the universe. My mind instantly went blank.  
  
_I. Was. Too. Slow._  
  
“I picked up immediately when I saw it was you! I'm so happy!” Russia continued on the other side of the line, oblivious to my frozen corpse on the bed.  
  
_What am I going to do? LOOK AT RUSSIA! DOES HE SEEM LIKE SOMEONE THAT WILL COUNT SHEEPS FOR ME—ok maybe but—I'm so dead. So fucking dead. Fuck! Why does Romano have to be right under Russia! WHY DOES ROMANO'S NAME START WITH AN 'R'?! Oh, mother of god, help me. Help me! Save me!_  
  
“Hello? Are you there?” Russia's voice was lightly tinged with disappointment at the lack of response from my side. “Is this what you guys call a prank call?”  
  
“NO! NO—no.” I quickly toned down my voice, steadying my shaking hands. “Uh...Hi, hello Russia...”  
  
_FUCK ME IN THE EYEBALLS! If I hang up right now Russia will rush over to stab me thousands of time and stick my head on a pike! I can't hang up!_  
  
“Oh! That's great! What did you call me for?” Russia switched back to his cheerful tone.   
  
My hands were still shaking. “Uh...uh...urm....Y-you know! Uh...I...uh....couldn't sleep, so I was wondering who to call...and... and...”  
  
“That's so nice of you! No one ever thought to call me and have a late night chat!” Russia's chirped on the other hand, the happiness in his voice rising to indescribable levels.  
  
“Yeah...yeah...” My clothes were starting to stick to my skin from the sweat.  
  
“How about this? I think I should go over your place and we could even have some snacks and drinks! Is that fine?”  
  
“D-definitely...!” I squeezed out the word, my shirt now soaking wet.   
  
“Okay!” The joy in Russia's voice drowned me as he spoke, “I'll be there in three minutes! See you soon!”  
  
The call ended with a deathly 'beeeeeeeep'.  
  
“I'm dreaming! Hahaha! That's right! I'm dreaming!” I slapped myself, my phone clattering to the floor. “Look! It hurts! But—I'm...I'm dreaming...”  
  
A roar of despair ripped out from my throat.   
  
“WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?! WHAT! TELL ME! WHAT!” I smashed a fist into my pillow, hurling the poor object across the room.  
  
_Tick. Tick. Tick._  
  
“Calm down, you useless fuck! Calm. Down. He'll be here in three minutes. I need to prepare drinks! Snacks! That's right! I need to have some shit on the table by the time he gets here—WHY DID HE GIVE ONLY THREE MINUTES THAT TALL ASSHOLE!” I literally flew down the stairs to my kitchen, tossing out all the potato chips and random snacks I could find, ravaging through my refrigerator and cupboards for some alcohol.  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
“FUCK!” I roared, quickly arranging the things I threw into the living room into a somewhat presentable look. “ITS NOT EVEN THREE MINUTES YET!”  
  
“Should I come back when three minutes passes?” A muffled voice sounded through my thick wooden front door.  
  
“SH—it he heard it! My god, did I just scream in Russia's face?” I covered my mouth in horror, slapping my face repeatedly in a poor attempt to calm myself down. “Calm down, there's one minute and fifteen seconds left. There's one minute—ah! I should change...”  
  
I rocketed up to my bedroom, and tumbled down in fresh clothes with thirty seconds left.  
  
Then I flung open my front door, panting heavily, bracing myself on the frame of the door for support.   
  
“H-hey...Welcome...Russia....come in!” I shot the tall asshole a bright smile, gesturing him to come inside.  
  
“Hello!” Russia towered over me, casting a dark shadow over my face. My smile wobbled. “Your house is so nice! It's so warm and toasty, unlike how my house usually is.” He leaned in further, about to do his kiss greeting.  
  
“I-is that so?” I gave a shaky laugh, bringing up a hand to stop Russia's looming face. “Uh...P-please don't. Just a blowing kiss like how you greet Germany is fine....I...urm...not very used to this...”  
  
Russia pulled back, blowing a kiss full of sunflowers into my face. I graciously took it and tucked it into my pocket.   
  
“You should come visit my house!” Russia grinned as I led him to my spacious living room , “And stay forever.”  
  
My heart almost popped out in terror. “I-I like the weather at my house more...haha...”  
  
“That's true.” Russia mused.  
  
We settled down into soft couches, and I handed the whole unopened bottle of vodka to Russia.   
  
Russia's smile widened, taking the bottle without any objections. “Are you not going to drink anything?”  
  
My stomach was like a ship in a heavy storm, bobbing up and down along with the tumultous waves of my stomach acid. I doubted that I would be able to swallow a single thing. “No, I'm fi—”  
  
“I **_insist_**.” Russia swiped a glass from the table, pouring me one. He handed it to me with a cute smile that definitely didn't fool anyone. “It doesn't feel nice to be the only one drinking.”  
  
“T-thank you.” Maybe alcohol was the only thing that could calm this roiling storm inside me.  
  
I hastily gulped down a mouthful, scrunching my face up at the unexpected sting. Russia elegantly drank from the bottle as he asked, “I heard you were having trouble with falling asleep? What's wrong? You live in such a warm, cosy place,” he took another swig, “It'd be such a waste if you didn't sleep.”  
  
The alcohol must have loosened my nerves as I replied without a single stutter. “Insomnia. You know.”  
  
“Ah, I had plenty of those.” Russia's violet eyes darkened slightly.   
  
An awkward silence descended upon us.   
  
I downed the whole glass of alcohol, trying to make myself seem occupied. I was starting to feel slight effects of the vodka. Russia wordlessly poured another glass for me. I didn't dare object.  
  
I racked my brains for a topic to talk about, chugging down my second glass. “Russia...uh...you like knitting right?”  
  
His pale eyebrow rose at my question, amusement in his eyes. “Yes, I do.”  
  
“What can you knit?”  
  
“Sweaters, scarfs, socks....anything, I guess.”  
  
“Will you knit something for me?” I must have gone insane.  
  
Russia's face lit up like a christmas tree, excitement, bliss, anticipation—so many things rolled into one. “Of course! We are friends now aren't we? Да? What do want me to knit for you? It might take quite a while with all my workload though!”  
  
“A scarf like yours would be great.” I couldn't help but smile at Russia's childlike happiness. “Take your time, I'll wait as long as I have to. Your work is more important.”  
  
I think Russia would have squealed and hugged me right there and then if he wasn't Russia. Flowers and sparkles were smacking me in the face from his enthusiasm. I slapped one away from poking me in the eye, drinking my fourth? Or fifth glass of vodka.   
  
“What colour do you want? What material? Merino wool? Cashmere? I can also knit you one from your enemies' hair!”   
  
“Anything aside from my enemies' hair is good.” I procured another two bottles of vodka, one for myself and the other for the gleeful giant.   
  
“What about France's hair? He apparently takes good care of it, I think it would be silky and soft and comfortable, да?”  
  
The thought of France's hair being snipped off by the smiling Russian made me snort. “You might start World War III with that. No hair thanks. I'm more inclined to normal threads and fibres.” I took a large mouthful of vodka from the bottle.  
  
Russia chuckled. “It'll be funny to see France crying over his bald head.” A sadistic glint in his eyes.  
  
My head was starting to swim from the amount of vodka I had consumed. “Be nice, you tall asshole.” I gave him a drunken grin.   
  
“I think black colour would suit you, no? Black just like your soul.” Russia teased.  
  
It didn't even register in my brain that Russia, the most frightening Nation was joking around with me. “Hah! Good one! I shall reward you with potato chips! C'mere!”  
  
I plunked sour cream and onion chips into Russia's hand, grinning like the drunk idiot I was.   
  
I couldn't remember much on how the rest of the conversation went. I polished off a whole bottle of vodka, snickering at Russia's sarcastic jabs at America and his useless dump of a President. I could vaguely remember Russia and I sharing tips on how to torture people—mentally and physically—and I didn't know how much of a sadist I was until then.   
  
It's all the vodka's fault.

* * *

I laid on the couch, face flushed red, totally wasted. “Mm...”  
  
Russia was a black hole for alcohol. No matter how many bottles he drank, vodka or not, the alcohol in his system didn't even faze him. He was still as clear-headed as ever, compared to me.   
  
“Oh no! It's so late! You need to sleep too! More sleep is healthy for your body.” Russia's accent seemed to have gotten stronger from all the alcohol.  
  
“I...I can't move...lazy...” I slurred from my position, waving a limp hand at him. The room wouldn't stop spinning. Is the ceiling trying to kill me? It keeps moving up and down. “Bringf me...upsthairs...” I turned to squint at the ash-blond Russian.  
  
Russia grabbed me by the back of my collar, lifting me up. The shirt cut off my air supply and I choked, pointing up the stairs. Russia hummed a little song as he brought me up, oblivious to my purple face.  
  
“ ** _Gggh..keh..._** ” I pointed a trembling finger at the second door to the right.  
  
Russia opened the door, dropping me onto the bed like a parcel. I inhaled the sweet sweet air, flopping down like a starfish with my limbs spread.   
  
“Aren't you hot? Wearing that large coat?” I sat up suddenly, every inch the drunken lunatic. Russia's face blanched when I started to unbutton his coat without warning.   
  
“W-what? Нет! Нет!” Russia launched into a string of curses in his native language, anxiously trying to stop me.  
  
“No? Okay.” I sat back down.  
  
Russia paused, confused.  
  
“What about your scarf?” I reached a hand out, tugging on it.  
  
The scarf slapped my hand off.   
  
My eyes bulged, “WOAH! It moved! Hahahah! It moved!”   
  
Russia didn't know what expression to make as I rubbed my face on his scarf while the animated thing tried to struggle out of my grasp. He had never seen someone touch or even come close to him so...shamelessly.  
  
“Oi, come here, sunflower bastard.” I tiptoed, looping an arm around his neck and tugging him to my bed. I ignored all his protests, tucking him under the blanket.  
  
“The bed is for you! Not for me!” Russia tried reasoning with me, but realised quickly it was useless. He moved to slide out of the bed, but I pushed him back in with an insolent foot.  
  
Don’t know how the drunk me had enough strength to push one of the strongest Nation back into the bed, but I did.  
  
I cooed over Russia, patting him on the head and tucking the sides of the blanket in, then my hand whipped out my phone—  
  
_Snap!_  
  
The picture was taken.  
  
The phone disappeared back into my pocket in the next milisecond, and the bewildered Russia didn’t even register that his photo had been taken and would be circulating around the world soon.  
  
“Leeet’s have a sleepoveur tonight...yes?”   
  
Russia’s face lit up again, blinding me with its innocence and sparkles. As confused as he was, the lonely Nation still wanted to have an experience with a friend. “Yes! Да! How do we start the sleepover?”  
  
“We’ve already starutted....I mean, started...We talked and ate snacks together right?” I pushed Russia to the side of the bed more. “Now its just the sleeping stuff left.”  
  
“S-sleeping on the same bed?” Russia’s accent thickened in his panic.  
  
“Yeaaah?” I slurred, “What’s wrong with it? Sharing the same bed is what best friends dooo... I no have sleeping bag so if you want floor to sleep with then you lie on floor, snowy bastard.”   
  
Russia struggled to make sense of my English, then replied, “No, no! I’m happy to be your best friend!”   
  
A sunflower sparkle was almost shoved up my nose. “Stop sparkling, you asshole!” I gave Russia a soft smack on the forehead as I climbed in next to him.  
  
“We...sleep...okay?” I tried my best to keep my eyes open, but gravity seemed to work on it 10x harder and I soon gave up.  
  
“Okay.” Russia grinned into the dark room, his sparkle still not turned off.   
  
_Best friend! Sleepover! I have a friend!_  
  
Russia’s thoughts were all over the place. His heart warmed as he glanced over to the drunken person beside him.  
  
A sudden click of a phone startled Russia, but the phone disappeared from view when he blinked.  
  
“What was that?” Russia asked.  
  
“Nothuing....sleep, and I’m going to switch off the lights now—I told you! Stop sparkling!”  
  
“Okay!”  
  
“Ok...”  
  
The dark room was still considerably lit with Russia emanating the light of a thousand watt bulb.  
  
“Come, cuddle.”  
  
“Wh-what?”  
  
“Shut up. We cuddle. Your body so cold, you must be cold....I give you warmth, come.”  
  
Russia wasn’t given a chance to protest as warm hands tried to encircle him but failed because he was too huge. His body was cold all the time since he was Russia, and his body temperature was lower than others since he was trained to stay outside in harsh winters.   
  
Russia heard the drunken me beside him mutter a few curse words when my arms couldn’t envelope him, so he decided to envelope me into his arms instead.  
  
I grinned like an idiot in my sleep. “I can see sheep! Sheep with Russia’s face....One, two, three...”  
  
Russia raised a quizzical eyebrow but didn’t comment on my drunken sheeps. He glowed brighter with another huge smile, “спокойной.”  
  
_Good night._

* * *

 **Interesting note: спокойной, which Russia used, is a short version of the more common phrase of good night, which is only used between friends and family.....I think, if the website didn’t lie to me.**  



End file.
